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by ssnapelover
Summary: 'I have them all here... drawings of them.Would you like to see' In this version of Sweeny Todd the sailor boy gives a very different answer to judge Turpin! Warning: strong language. Thanks to achrya for corrections.


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'Come in lad, come in!'

Judge Turpin's smile was almost fatherly: could there be any harm in entering the house?  
The boy had been observing it from across the street without a clear idea what the interior might be like. Above all, he had focused on the object of his desire that appeared at the window as soon as the sun was out in the morning, and by the light of a candelabra at nightfall. He had knocked at the door on an impulse, not expecting the judge himself to open it, and blurted out the first pretext that had come into his head.

Now he looked at the black and white marble slabs on the floor of the hallway and watched Turpin's boots as the firm steps echoed on the stone. The judge opened a tall, dark panelled door and they entered a... study? Library? The sombre velvet curtains, the heavy furniture in dark wood and oxblood leather, and the Oriental rug covering almost the entire floor, came as no surprise. But tall bookcases filled with much-handled tomes in a variety of bindings lined the walls, and between them... framed paintings and even a fresco depicting human bodies engaged in... The boy looked away, at the tiger skin on the floor in front of the fireplace.

'You were looking for Hyde Park, you say...'

He recalled his excuse for knocking at the door. 'Yes. It's very large on the map, but I keep getting lost.'

'Sit down, lad, sit down.'

The Judge motioned to a leather armchair and poured a glass of some pale amber liquid from a crystal carafe.

'It's embarrassing for a sailor to lose his bearings, but... there you are.' The boy talked on mechanically as he watched the unkempt but shapely hands moving, replacing the stopper, offering him the glass.

'A sailor.'

'Yes, sir. The "Bountiful", out of Plymouth.'

Turpin's attire was sumptuous, the boy noted with some admiration. The rich gold-shot brocade waistcoat, the coppery-brown trousers in what looked like fine glacé leather, the perfectly fitting coat with a lavish sheen and a remarkable pattern resembling lizard skin, the elaborate silk cravat and perfectly polished tall boots... Imagine being a gentleman like that...

'A sailor must know the ways of the world, yes...?' The judge scrutinised him. 'Must be practised in the ways of the world... Would you say you're practised, boy?

' Sir...?' Confused, he focused on not dropping the glass in his hand.

'Oh, yes...' the judge went on, slowly walking along one of his book cases. 'Such practices... The geishas of Japan, the concubines of Siam, the catamites of Greece, the harlots of India...' His finger touched the books on the shelf, one by one. 'I have them all here... drawings of them. Everything you've ever dreamed of doing... with a woman. Would you like to see?'

Would he, now... 'I think there's been some mistake,' he said. Yet the curiosity in his eyes was obvious.

'I think not. You gandered at my ward, Johanna. You gandered at her... yes, sir, you gandered!'

'I meant no harm.' Not trusting his hands anymore, he set down the crystal goblet on the table.

'Your meaning is immaterial. Mark me! If I see your face again on this street, you'll rue the day you were born.' Turpin leapt forward like a panther onto his prey, his face only inches away from the boy's.

'You are mistaken, sir,' the boy repeated.

'Don't contradict me, boy!' The judge shouted, then lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. 'I've seen you looking at my house, lurking across the road…'

'No sir… It's not...'

'I know, boy! I know your sort and I've my own way of dealing with you.'

He picked up a slim rattan cane from the mantelpiece and let it swish barely an inch from the sailor boy's face. 'You'll regret ever having set foot in my street!'

'Please sir, no…' The boy cringed, moving to shield his face from the blow that he imagined coming. 'You don't understand…'

'You deny looking at my ward's window boy?' the judge growled, as if interrogating one of his suspects in court.

'No.. I admit I was fascinated by the girl in the window at first…' the boy began with a trembling voice. 'But…'

'But?' Turpin pointed the cane at him like a rapier.

'But then I saw you at of the window of your study, on the ground floor… browsing your books…' the boy whispered, as if too frightened to speak his confession out loud. 'I couldn't keep my eyes from you… from the books, I mean.'

Turpin's grip on the cane lightened and shifted slightly in expectation of the boy's next sentence.

'I saw the covers… sir. And I could make out some of the illustrations.'

'You mean to say you've spied on me?' Turpin growled.

'I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to offend.'

'I find your conduct extremely offensive!'

'But I admired the prints, sir… and I admire…you. I'd like to be like you, one day. That is why I came: I want to learn from you, if I may. I wonder if you could use a junior clerk.'

For a moment Turpin appeared baffled. Then he relaxed. Admiration. A vain, self-absorbed man, he could not resist exploring the boy's claims further.

'A clerk, you, sailor boy?'

'I read and write well, sir. I only went to sea to get away from home.'

'Well, well. So you claim to admire me. In what way, if I may ask?' He turned away from his guest, to the boy's relief, and poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter.

'I think you're the most impressive gentleman I've ever seen…' the boy stammered. 'I listen to you in court, almost every day, just to hear your powerful voice.'

The judge's face grew earnest. This was a very different boy, not at all like the scoundrels who commonly lusted after his ward. He was not quite sure what the boy was trying to tell him. Could it be…? He walked past the book shelves again and asked: 'You are interested in my books, you say. Any book in particular that you'd like to see?'

The sailor stood up and joined Turpin at the bookcase. With a trembling finger he pointed at "The Mores of Ancient Greece".

'Would this be the one with the... catamites? I know little about that, sir… but I'm rather curious. Would you mind showing it to me?'

The boy felt that he had Turpin's full attention and interest. He even noticed a distinct bulge appearing at the front of the tight, smooth leather trousers.

Turpin took the book from the shelf, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy. 'So you don't lust for my girl after all?' he speculated in a very low voice. 'Your desires lie elsewhere…' He tentatively touched the golden locks of the boy's hair. It was long and soft, almost like that of a girl. And the boy's face was pale and fragile, also almost girlish. Yes, there were possibilities here! His finger brushed the sailor's lips and the boy parted them slightly while closing his eyes. Turpin's breathing deepened and quickened when he saw the boy's unmistakable reaction to his touch.

'Yes…' Turpin whispered lustfully, 'Yes, I can see you have a curious mind… eager to learn, aren't you? Very responsive…' He laughed almost inaudibly, in the back of his throat.

'So!' Speaking a little louder, he went to his desk and put the book down on it with a thud.  
'Let me show you my book, then.' He sat down in the oxblood-leather chair and spread his legs slightly.

The boy stood still next to the bookcase, awaiting a further order.

'Well, won't you come and sit on my knee, lad?'

The boy smiled, hesitating.

'Come, don't be so shy, lad! Sit on your uncle Turpin's knee while he tells you a story.'  
The judge's voice had a teasing tone, almost masking the urgent rasp. Slowly, the boy walked to the desk, where Turpin had opened the book at an illustrated page. It was a luscious, hand-coloured engraving of naked young men gambolling in the shallows of a bright blue sea. The boy turned to the judge and saw the raw lust in his eyes. He knew that he could make the older man do anything if he handled himself cleverly: past a certain point, Turpin was a slave to his instincts. The boy touched the silvery, longish hair of his new master, his fingers moved over the stubble on the man's face and emulated the feathery brush across the lips.

'Yes, oh yes', whispered Turpin, breathing heavily, while the boy sat down on his lap. The boy's buttocks felt warm through the double fabric of their trousers and the man's erection grew rapidly. 'So you prefer an older stud then, do you?' Turpin panted, reaching for the book with greedy, trembling fingers.

While they turned the pages, the boy thought how easy it would be to free Joanna from her room, as soon as the old man, sated, had fallen asleep, as he most certainly would.

_The End_


End file.
